


Meg's Trip

by RCs Many Posts (Parker4131970)



Category: due South
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:30:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/RCs%20Many%20Posts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the weather is cold in Chicago it can also be slippery. Meg finds out the hard way. Set just before Call of the Wild</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meg's Trip

**Meg's Nice Trip this Fall**

Winter time in Chicago is sometimes as slick as snot on a doorknob. Meg Thatcher was to find this out the hard way.

“Constable Turnbull, make sure we have our reports ready to send out first thing in the morning. I'll be back after lunch. Make sure you and Constable Fraser have everything spic and span for the Ecuadorian ambassador's arrival on Monday.” The lanky, junior mountie nodded emphatically as his boss lady pulled on her heavy, navy blue pea coat. The service coat was warmer than her usual trench coat. She detested having to get out in the wet snow that the city of Chicago hadn't bothered to shovel away from the front of the consulate. It had been below zero for the last month and storms had dumped four feet of snow on the city in the last week. Hot coffee turned to an iced latte in a matter of seconds.

Wrapping her crocheted scarf around her head, the inspector made herself as ready as possible to meet the bracing, Chicago wind. She was glad she'd kept her fur lined gloves handy. Now if only she could get a pair of wool slacks lined with wolf pelt. Heaven knows she'd like to skin Constable Fraser's half wolf every time he stole the last dough nut from the consulate kitchen.

“Be careful on the sidewalk, Sir, I nearly fell earlier.” Turnbull smiled like it had been fun. Meg waved him off.

***

To put a man on sentry duty for a week in below freezing temperatures just because his unofficial partner had called her an 'ice queen'- again- wasn't fair. Benton made a mental note to speak to Ray Vecchio about being more discreet when referring to his boss as an 'ice queen' or a 'dragon lady', or a few other, colorful names he'd though up for her.

A mound of plowed snow stood waist high beside the mountie as he stared straight ahead. The sidewalks had been shoveled but the effort had only caused them to turn into a sheet of ice. It was Turnbull's job to supply the consulate with rock salt on his lunch break, at two o'clock that afternoon.

Meg heard the church bells across the street chime noon just as she passed beside Fraser. She had to admit, he did look cold, impassive, but cold. Her conscience tugged at her to let him off sentry duty. After all, it wasn't his fault Ray Vecchio didn't like her.

The mountie shifted his weight for the first time in four hours as he took leave of his post. It felt good to move again. Even in the far, Northwest Territories, he'd rarely been this cold. Ben stamped his feet and beat his hands against his shoulders to regain some feeling in them.

“Good afternoon, Inspector Thatcher.” He tipped his hat as Meg walked by. Her boots, while fashionable, were impractical on ice. After nodding she took two steps and slipped. She felt her feet go out from beneath her and the sky above her moved as she changed positions from vertical to horizontal. Pain in the back of her head began to spread like the mushroom cloud of an atomic bomb. She didn't see the lead gray sky anymore. Instead she saw only darkness. The cool, absence of light and sensation took her before Meg could protest.

***

Fraser turned to watch Inspector Thatcher as she left the consulate. The sidewalk was empty of people. Weather reports had advised people to stay indoors if at all possible. School was out for the week and other services had been sent home all across the city.

Before Ben could react he saw Meg's feet fly out from beneath her. She gasped loudly, her arms flailing for balance but she hit the ice covered cement anyway. He heard the sickening _'thunk'_ as her head hit the ground. Ben's heart stopped beating for a split second. He raced to her side. Meg was breathing but unresponsive to his voice. She was too still, too quiet. Turnbull had seen his superior officer fall from the front window and joined Fraser at her side.

“Call for an ambulance.” Fraser ordered, taking off his hat and putting it beneath Meg's head. The junior mountie tore off toward the consulate, his feet sliding dangerously. Fraser listened to Meg's breathing and took her pulse, both of which were almost nonexistent. Next he gently pried open an eyelid to see if her pupils were responsive. A thousand thoughts raced through his brain. There was so much he hadn't told her. That kiss on top of the runaway train could be the last one between them.

“Come on, Inspector Thatcher, wake up.” He leaned forward, prepared for CPR when he heard her groan. Relieved, he took her hand as her eyes fluttered open.

“Inspector Thatcher, are you alright?” His voice came out worried. Meg swallowed before trying to speak. Her head hurt like no body's business and she felt a little dizzy.

“Fine, I'm fine.” She tried to sit up but the dizziness pulled her back down. She blinked a few times trying to clear the cobwebs. With Fraser's help, she finally sat up and took stock of the damage. Her boot heel had broken and there were several, new sore places where her elbows and back had hit the ground hard. The mountie still held her hand as he knelt beside her.

“Sir, I saw the accident. Turnbull's called for an ambulance. Stay still.” His voice was authoritative, which annoyed Meg despite her fog.

“I'm fine, really, I just fell.” Meg shook her head, which was a mistake. Ben's brows knit together in concern as his slightly imperfect eye tooth pulled at his bottom lip. He wasn't convinced.

“Sir, there may be more injury than sore joints and a damaged boot heel.” Fraser studied her eyes carefully.

“Oh pooh, help me up, Constable.” Stubborn, Meg scrambled onto her knees to get up. That didn't go as planned. Ben took her by the waist and set her upright on her feet. By the time they'd crossed the three or four meters to the consulate stoop Meg had to stop.

“May I, Sir?” He stopped at the first step and swept her up into his arms. Turnbull held the front door for them as Fraser carried her inside. Meg's head rested against the mountie's shoulder.

“I've called an ambulance, Sir, but they say it'll be a while, there's a thirty car pile up on the highway.” The junior mountie's expression was one of fear, for all the world making him look like a little boy who'd just been whipped.

“Call Ray Vecchio at the precinct, his number is on my desk.” Fraser set Thatcher down on the couch in her office. She fumbled to get her gloves off and shuck out of her coat. Again, Fraser knelt down in front of her and studied her pupils. He didn't like what he saw.

“Constable Fraser, I am fine, quit hovering.” Meg leaned back against the soft, forest green couch and closed her eyes. What could he do but pull back?

Outside in the hallway Ben heard Turnbull's boots slapping against the floor as he hurried back down the hall. From the look on his face, Ben knew he hadn't been able to get up with Ray. The mountie took a deep breath, a few choice words crossing his mind.

“Detective Vecchio isn't at the precinct, or at his house and he isn't answering his cellular phone.” The younger mountie wrung his hands as he delivered the bad news.

“Thank you, Turnbull.” Ben crossed his arms over his chest for a moment, thinking. What would his father do in such a situation?

“Nothing in the city is moving today. They've canceled garbage pick up, public transportation, everything.” Turnbull shrugged.

“We have to do something. Inspector Thatcher took a very hard hit to the back of the head.” Turnbull looked more frightened than ever at Fraser's words. The younger mountie gasped audibly.

“Oh dear, do you think she may have a concussion or something more dangerous perhaps?” Turnbull's tone was grave.

“I can't be positive. Keep this between us Turnbull.” Fraser didn't want to worry Meg if he didn't need to.

“Yes, Sir, I'll go try Detective Vecchio again.” Turnbull rushed away to Fraser's office before he'd been dismissed. Fraser was too preoccupied to care or notice. He went back into Thatcher's office to check on her. The inspector had laid over on the couch, her coat beneath her head for a pillow. She'd tucked her feet up close to her and her hands lay beneath her head. Fraser hated to disturb her but did so anyway.

“Inspector Thatcher.” He said her name a few times before she roused. Her eyes blinked as she focused on his face. A frown wrinkled her brow as she sat back up.

“What do you want now, Constable Fraser?” Meg's voice didn't have much of it's usual growl as she looked at him.

“The ambulance isn't coming for some time. We need to get you to an emergency room soon.” Ben's tongue toyed with his front tooth as he watched his boss lady's big, brown eyes. He noticed that they were fringed by the longest, darkest lashes he'd ever seen naturally.

“I'm fine, Fraser, I'm just sleepy. This headache doesn't help matters. I only knocked the wind out of myself.” She waved him away as she returned to her comfy couch.

“That's very dangerous, Sir.” Ben knew from his training that head injuries could be far worse than they felt or appeared. With a subdural hematoma she would fall asleep and never wake up. That possibility was unacceptable.

Meg tried to argue with him but soon saw Fraser's logic. Logic was something she could understand and appreciate.

“Try to remain awake,Sir. I'll be right back.” Fraser walked into his office where Turnbull dialed the phone, trying Ray for the fifth time.

“Still no answer, Sir.” He turned to his superior officer.

“There isn't much time.” Fraser took a deep breath. If he had to carry her the eight blocks to the emergency room then so be it, Meg Thatcher would get there.

“What have you decided, Sir?” Turnbull's eyes lit up when he saw the decisive air about the other mountie.

“Is Rosie still camped out behind the convenience store across the street?”

“Yes, Sir, I believe so.” Turnbull didn't see the connection but he didn't have to.

“Sit with Inspector Thatcher until I return, try to keep her awake.” With his Stetson in hand the mountie began his mission. “You too Diefenbaker.” He hoped the half wolf would prove annoying enough to keep her awake.

***

Rosie sat by a small fire behind the Fast Mart. She'd caught a squirrel using the trap Constable Fraser had showed her how to build and use. There wasn't much meat to be had but she managed.

“Good day, Rosie, how are you?” The mountie asked but his voice was taunt. The scrawny, black woman patted a milk crate beside her for Fraser to sit on. To be polite, he settled himself on the stout, plastic container.

“I'm doin' fine, Constable Fraser, how about yourself?” She smiled, still turning the squirrel over the fire.

“I came to ask a favor of you, Rosie.” The homeless woman looked at him like he'd grown a second head. What would he need from her?

“I need to borrow your shopping cart for something very important.” she grinned, honored that he'd ask her anything after Benton had been kind to her. “I can compensate you for your trouble.” The mountie pulled his Stetson off and began rummaging for money.

“Ah, put that away, I don't want nothin'. You ask so nice, how can anyone turn such a handsome, young fella like you down?” She roused herself from her milk crate and began emptying everything she owned from the Piggly Wiggly grocery cart. It had been a fortuitous find in the ditch outside the big, chain store. The wheeled, metal cart had four, good wheels and Rosie had duct taped the broken handles so they wouldn't pinch her hands.

“I can't promise it will be returned to you, Rosie, are you certain?” Ben stood beside her, his expression uncertain.

“If you don't return it I know you'll find me something else to put my stuff in, Constable.” The older lady smiled as she put on her tenth layer of clothing. With one gloved hand she waved his concern away.

“Thank you kindly, Rosie.” Ben rushed the large, rolling cart back to the consulate and parked it beside the front stoop.

Inside, the junior mountie and the half wolf had made Meg mad enough to walk herself to the hospital in self-defense. She didn't know which one was smarter; the mountie or the wolf.

“Turnbull, please, leave me alone, and take that wolf with you.” Inspector Thatcher's voice was tired.

“How is she, Turnbull?” Fraser stepped into the office and saw Meg laying on her side.

“Sir, her speech has been slurred and she's even more irritable than usual.” The junior mountie answered before he thought better of whom he'd spoken in front of.

“I have a headache, I'm not deaf, Turnbull.” Meg growled as she lay against her pea coat.

“In my office closet there's a wool blanket, will you retrieve it for me, Turnbull?” Fraser didn't want the junior mountie around when he told Meg his intentions.

“Yes, Sir, right away.” The younger mountie took off at top speed, leaving Fraser to tend to Meg.

“Inspector Thatcher, I'm going to take you to the emergency room now. Let's get your coat on.” He knelt down in front of her, his own heavy coat still on. Meg's eyes fluttered as she sat up. Gently, Ben pulled her coat on around her shoulders, guiding her hands down the sleeves like a toddler. Next he wrapped her scarf securely around her head and tucked the ends into her coat front. Lastly, he fished her gloves out of her coat pockets and helped her put them on. She didn't protest as his strong hands worked the coat buttons and slid her fingers into the fur lined mittens. Ben was mildly surprised that she even had a pair of the hand made mittens. Then again, Meg Thatcher was a mystery to him in so many ways.

“Where are we going, Constable Fraser?” Meg asked, searching his face in confusion.

“To see a doctor, Inspector Thatcher.” He answered simply.

“Oh, no, I don't want to get a shot.” She whined like a little girl, her face crumpling up to cry.

“It'll just be something to make your headache go away, alright.” Ben spoke in his most soothing tone of voice. For a moment he studied her eyes again. She wasn't the Meg Thatcher she should be behind them.

“You put my mittens on for me.” She clapped her hands together softly as she looked at the buck colored mittens. “You'd be such a good dad someday.” Meg smiled, her right mitten caressing his face.

Ben had to swallow hard. Part of him wanted to have a child, someone to carry on his legacy as he carried on his father's. With each passing year he saw that possibility fade a faint shade.

“Are you ready to leave?” The mountie collected himself and stood up.

“Where are we going again?” Meg peered up at him, her shoulders slumped and her lower lip protruding a bit as she frowned.

“To the doctors.” He smiled indulgently as he helped her to her feet.

“I've found it, Constable Fraser.” Turnbull walked in carrying a gray, wool blanket. With Meg's arm around his neck, Ben held her around the waist with one arm. With Turnbull's help, Fraser eased her down the steps and into the shopping cart. Carefully, Ben tucked the blanket in around her as she sat in the cart, her head resting against the corner. Had Meg Thatcher been in her full capacity, she'd have thrown a hissy fit to beat all hissy fits about riding in a ridiculous, Piggly Wiggly cart. Ben was thankful for small favors.

“God's speed, Constable Fraser.” The junior mountie stood straight as an arrow, saluting the pair.

“Thank you, Turnbull. Keep Diefenbaker until I return.” Fraser took off down the sidewalk without looking back.

***

Crossing the Windy City after a winter storm system had dumped several feet of snow on it was rather like crossing a jagged glacier. Between the black ice on the sidewalk and mounds of snow shoveled over from the road ways, it was a daunting task. Fraser tried to keep Meg talking as much as possible.

“Inspector Thatcher, tell me a story.” The mountie asked, hoping she was still out of it enough to comply without a fuss.

“I don't know any.” She sighed, leaning against the cart's back. Turning her face up to the cold wind she looked up at Fraser, his hat shadowing his face.

“You look like a statue I once saw somewhere.” Meg giggled. “He had that same, dramatic profile and those spring green eyes.” She reached up to touch his face. “That was probably one of the countless days I put you on sentry duty. I'm sorry, Fraser. I've been such a witch to you. I have to be or you might think I liked you. I don't like you.” Meg felt him take her hand and squeeze her fingers. “I love you, I don't like you, not one little bit.” Ben looked down at her with a look of unguarded concern.

“I feel the same for you.” He stopped short of calling her 'Sir'. For a moment she saw a tenderness in his eyes she'd seen only once before, on the train roof before they'd kissed. Her foggy brain registered alarm but didn't process it on through. If he was talking like that she must be seriously injured.

“How long?” Meg asked, turning to look directly at Ben.

“Have I loved you?” He shrugged as he dodged a sooty snow pile. “Since the first time I saw you.” He let a crooked smile pull at his lips.

“I never learned how to express my feelings very well. Do you forgive me, Fraser?” Meg's voice slurred his name, making it sound like she had a mouth full of cotton.

“Always.” Ben answered.

***

The emergency room was waiting room only when Fraser carried Meg through the sliding glass door. Warm air beat down on their heads as they walked through the tiled hallway. Meg's head rested against the mountie's shoulder as he carried her, one arm under her legs and the other around her back.

“Fill out these forms and have a seat, please.” A disinterested nurse pushed a clip board across the sign-in desk.

“She has a traumatic brain injury, she needs to see a doctor immediately.” Fraser's usually polite voice came through a bit sharper than usual. Meg Thatcher may have been slim and petite, but she was still one hundred and twenty pounds of dead weight.

“Right this way.” The nurse looked up from the chart in her hands, her eyes wide in innocence. She called for one of the aides to let them through. Double doors opened automatically, allowing Ben to carry Meg into the exam room.

“What's her name, Sir?” The forty-something nurse asked as she pulled a stethoscope from her uniform pocket.

“Inspector Margaret Thatcher, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, currently stationed at the Canadian Consulate here in Chicago.” Ben removed his Stetson and helped the nurse to remove Meg's mittens.

“What happened?” The nurse asked without looking taking her eyes off her wrist watch as she took Meg's pulse.

“At the stroke of noon, she slipped on a patch of ice and hit her head against the cement. Her speech is slurred, she's more irritable than usual, and there is a marked difference in her personality, as well as a headache.” Meg lay against the hospital bed, her eyes closed. The nurse opened one eye to examine Meg's pupils.

“I'll let the doctor know and he'll be in as soon as possible. Until then, fill out these forms for her as best you can.” Dull eyed, the nurse handed him the clipboard and left Fraser to sit in a straight backed chair beside the hospital bed. Meg turned to lay on her side, looking at Fraser after the curtain had been pulled.

“Fraser, I don't feel well.” She struggled to sit up. “My head hurts something awful.” The lady mountie would never have admitted to feeling unwell to him. “I don't remember why it hurts.”

Ben wished he could take the pain away. As much of a witch as she could be at times, arrogant, contrary, opinionated, and bossy, he still had a soft spot for her. “Someone will be along soon to see what's wrong.”

“Thank you, Fraser.” Meg smiled weakly.

By the time Ben had filled out the medical questionnaire he'd begun to fear they'd been forgotten. All around the exam room he could hear people rushing around, monitors beeping and phones ringing. The mountie couldn't bear to leave Meg's side. She seemed so fragile somehow. After an hour of waiting Ben slid open the curtain. At the end of the horseshoe shaped emergency room he spied Ray Vecchio talking to the admittance nurse. He seemed to be giving her a piece of his mind. Ben turned to look at Meg, resting comfortably, before calling out to his friend.

“Ray, here.” The Canadian's voice cut through the din. A few minutes later Ray waltzed through the automatic doors like he owned the whole hospital.

“What in the hell's goin on here, Bennie. Turnbull's blown up my phone callin. Then, when I did talk to him he's blubbering somethin about you going to the hospital and a grocery cart.” Ray said with his usual bluster.

“Inspector Thatcher suffered a traumatic brain injury. She fell on the ice in front of the consulate and hit her head. I borrowed Rosie's cart to wheel her here.” The mountie talked with his hands.

“Have they looked at her yet? I've been out there in the waiting room arguing with Nurse Cratchet for the last twenty minutes.” The detective stuck his hands in his pockets.

“No, I'm afraid the highway accident has the emergency room full to capacity.” The detective gave his friend his most deceptive smile, like a weasel.

“Let me take care of it, Fraser.” The mountie braced for what he was certain would be more than slightly embarrassing.

“Alright everyone, listen up! What we have here is a Canadian, a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer who's hit her head on the slick, Chicago streets. Now if someone doesn't start lookin her over I'm gonna have to make someone's life miserable by calling this hospital's board of directors. And I'm sure the Canadian government would love to know how one of their officials was treated.” The Italian descendant's voice brought doctors out of the exam room like the dark brings out cockroaches.

“I'm Dr. Robert Hood, neurology.” A freshly minted doctor came up to the detective first. He still had the smell of delivery pizza and library dust on him. “What did you say happened?”

“This way, Dr. Hood.” Fraser took the lead, explaining the accident.

“Well, we'll send her up for a CAT scan and see what's going on. I'll take her myself.” The young doctor wore circular spectacles and his slightly wavy, blond hair short.

“Sorry I had to be such a ball buster out there, Doc, but she's been here over an hour.” Ray apologized. The doctor just smiled and began examining Meg for himself.

“Who's this,what's going on here, Constable Fraser?” Meg woke up enough to ask questions, her boss tone of voice intact.

“Hello,” He turned to Fraser for her name, other than Inspector.

“Inspector Margaret Thatcher,”

“Meg for short.” Vecchio interrupted with a cheesy smile.

“Hello, Meg, I'm Dr. Robert Hood.” A knowing smile spread over the good natured doctor's face. He'd heard all the jokes- all of them. He saw the amusement in the mountie's green eyes. The detective seemed unaware of his unfortunate name. Fraser and the doctor shrugged and didn't try to explain the joke.

“Like Robin Hood, ha! That's funny.” Meg laughed until her headache got the better of her. That's when Ray got the joke.

“Robert Hood, Robin Hood, I get it now.” The detective chuckled.

“Yes, Ray.” Fraser shook his head.

“What, I've always been more of a baseball and comic books kinda guy.” Ray retorted.

“Alright, Meg, let's get you ready for a CAT scan, shall we?” Dr. Hood shooed the boys out and called for a nurse.

“Is she going to be alright, Dr. Hood?” Ray asked the question he knew Fraser wanted to ask but wouldn't.

“She'll be fine in a few days, yes. You got her here in time.” The doctor responded with a reassuring smile.

***

“Hospital coffee doesn't even smell good, yuck.” Ray tossed his mostly full cup of coffee in the cafeteria trash can. “I don't know why I bother, I always throw it out.” The detective eyeballed Fraser's apple juice he'd bought from the vending machine. Apple juice is always good.

“Thank you for coming to the hospital, Ray, I know you were on duty when Turnbull telephoned.” The mountie sipped the naturally sweet, crisp juice.

“Ah, I was sitting on some snitch's place, waiting, but he never showed so I left, went back to the precinct where I'd left my cellular phone. I came as soon as I could get Turnbull to tell me what hospital you were at. At first I thought it was you, the way he was blabberin.” Ray shrugged like he had nothing better to do than run to Fraser day or night. They'd seen each other through some hairy moments and some good ones too. That's what friends did.

“Oh, speaking of Turnbull, I should really call and let him know what's going on. Do you have change for a dollar, Ray?” The detective rolled his eyes and fished out two quarters. Knowing Fraser, all he had was a handful of Canadian change.

“Thank you kindly, Ray.” The detective waved him off as he headed for the nearest pay phone.

***

Meg's CAT scan showed a large subdural hemotoma. Dr. Hood frowned as he studied the hazy image. He hated to have to mess up such a maintained woman's hairstyle. With a sigh he wrote the orders for her emergency surgery. He'd seen the concern in the mountie's eyes when he'd examined Meg in the ER. There was something between them. All Dr. Hood could do was shake his head.

***

A few hours later Meg lay in a hospital room to herself. She didn't know the things Dr. Hood had explained to her. Fraser had had to translate in order for her to agree to sign the papers. She was taking a chance, but she trusted Fraser's judgment. A nurse had given her something to knock her out before they took her into surgery. Benton had been hovering around, nervously twirling his Stetson.

“Fraser, can I have a word, in private?” Meg motioned him over with one manicured hand. He stepped closer to the hospital bed as Ray headed out. Sitting up, Meg took him by the front of his uniform and kissed him. She pulled him down to her level, her hands twisted in the stiff material as she pressed her lips to his. Her heart beat like a hummingbird's wings as she tasted apple on his tongue. Both of them quit breathing, quit thinking, quit letting logic and duty dictate their actions and feelings. Meg felt his rough hand on her neck as he moved closer. Out of breath, she pulled away.

“I'm scared.” She nearly whispered as she loosened her grip on Ben's uniform, her forehead against his chin. He'd never seen her scared about anything, not like this, with her life in the balance.

“I'll be praying for you. I'll be there when they bring you to your room.” Ben took her hand and pressed a kiss against the palm as if he thought she might need one for later. She blinked a few times, the sedatives taking effect. Benton left Meg with a smile as she laid back to drift off.

***

Ben dragged out of the exam room and down the hall where Ray Vecchio stood chatting up a pretty, blonde nurse. The detective took one look at him and knew something had happened between them. Ben's look of concern was deepened, his shoulders slumped a bit as he picked at his hat.

“She lay a whammy on you?” The pretty nurse walked back to her duties, leaving Ray and Fraser alone.

“You could say that, Ray.” Ben pulled himself upright again.

“I gave the head nurse my cell number, let's get out of here for a while. They'll call.” Ray slapped the mountie on the back and nodded his head toward the door.

The hospital chapel sat empty when Ray led Fraser inside. A dozen pews sat empty facing a pulpit and a large, wooden cross. The room was eerily silent, as if God would speak aloud at any second. A few candles burned on a table to the side of the pulpit. Stained glass windows of reds, yellows, blues, and purples filtered afternoon sunlight, casting puddles of color all over the room. Ray and Fraser took a seat in the back, beneath a heat vent. The warm air coming down felt wonderful compared to the chilly ER.

“I hate waiting, don't you?” Ray leaned back, his feet out before him.

“It is the hardest part.” Ben agreed, leaning forward on the pew before him. He noted how smooth the hardwood was beneath is fingers. The mountie had sat in many churches over the years. His work allowed him little time to attend services. A few of the rare times he'd been in church had been to the funerals of fellow RCMP officers. They'd served and died either in the line of duty or, most often, of old age.

“You've been like a pit-bull on a bone with this, Fraser, wanna tell me about it?” Ray offered, his tone quiet, affected by the atmosphere.

“She wasn't herself in there, Ray. I've never seen Inspector Thatcher afraid of anything.” With something between a sigh and a groan, the mountie leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. He leaned his head even further back, glad for the artificial heat pouring over him.

“She's one tough cookie, I'll give her that.” The Chicago detective shrugged. He'd never seen her crack under pressure. Working with Fraser, there could be some intense pressure. Ray knew that first hand.

“Do you remember the runaway train, the Musical Ride?” Fraser asked after a moment.

Ray started nodding, remembering a terrified leap onto a moving train. He vowed never to do that again-ever.

“Do you remember the unaccounted for time Inspector Thatcher and I spent on top of the train?” The mountie didn't look at his friend, focusing instead on the opposite wall as he remembered.

Ray saw where he was going with his thinking.

“Yep, she laid a whammy on you then too. I heard you two were playin tonsil hockey on the roof.” Ray's crude joke got him a disapproving glare from his Canadian friend.

“What is it with you, women and trains, Bennie?” The detective elbowed him in the arm, grinning to make him feel better.

“I have no idea, Ray, I've never thought of it until now.” Fraser reflected on the coincidences for a moment, his light eyes staring at nothing in particular.

“Anyway, I know what you mean. Thatcher keeps you at arm's length until something life threatening is going on, like a death bed confession almost.” Figuring out women wasn't Ray's strong suit, despite having sisters. He guessed that was why he was chronically single.

“Exactly, Ray. It is so confusing. I feel the same today as I did yesterday. Did she feel the same yesterday as she does today?” Thinking of it made the mountie's head ache. He felt like a hamster on a love wheel, always running and never getting anywhere.

“I hear you, Buddy, I hear you, but I don't got any more answers than you do. If you confess it when she's better then she'll get mad and say something. If you leave it alone she'll get mad and stay that way until the next time her life hangs in the breeze. Ma used to say women were fickle because they could be and for no other reason.” The detective let out a tired groan.

“I believe she was right.” Fraser leaned back, both men sitting against the back of the pew staring straight ahead at the stained glass colors on the back wall.

“Well, I'm gonna go call Ma and tell her I'll be late for dinner tonight.” Ray pulled the cellular phone out of his trench coat pocket and laid it on the pew beside Fraser.

“Thank you kindly, Ray.” The mountie's usual phrase sounded mechanical.

“Mind if I tell Ma, she don't mind praying for people.” Fraser leaned back to see his friend's face, a tired smile on his features.

“Yes, I could use all the prayer I can get.” Ray clapped him on the shoulder before leaving him in the chapel with his thoughts.

Alone in the silence, Ben thought long and hard about his life over the last several years. He wondered about the paths not taken; Victoria Metcalf, Francesca Vecchio, Meg Thatcher, and a few others. He knew what life without Victoria was like, the feeling of guilt and loneliness. She'd chosen the path they walked down as much as Fraser had. He couldn't imagine life without Meg Thatcher. Who would be there to give him grief? Who would be there to cover his back with the RCMP superior officers? Who would be there to wear red every great once in a while to drive him crazy?

Benton leaned forward in the pew, his hat in his hands and looked at his boots. For a moment he reached out to God above as his grandmother had taught him years earlier. Ben asked for Him to watch over the women in his life. Then he asked for special protection for Meg.

As “Amen” passed through his lips the cell phone rang on the pew seat beside him.

“Constable Fraser, I'm calling to let you know she's out of surgery and in recovery as we speak. Everything went well. I've arranged for a private room. You can check on Meg in about an hour.” Dr. Hood sounded as relieved as Ben felt.

“Thank you kindly, Dr. Hood.” The mountie switched the phone off and let a prayer of thanks cross his lips.

***

For the first time since lunch time Meg felt better. The sedatives they'd given her kept her out of commission for the rest of the day. She had a hospital room to herself so there wasn't anyone to annoy her, just the nurses coming and going, taking her vital signs. Ben hung around the room until visiting hours and the nurses forced him to leave. Ray drove him back to the consulate to take care of Diefenbaker as well as to update Turnbull.

The junior mountie was beside himself with worry. He'd baked a three tiered, chocolate souffle while he waited. Diefenbaker had chewed off one of the desk legs in Fraser's office waiting for him, despite two walks around the bock with Turnbull. Other than that, everything was as it should have been.

The next morning Benton was back at the hospital as soon as visiting hours began. He'd brought Meg a good cup of coffee and her favorite pastry in lieu of flowers. When he arrived at the hospital Meg was just rousing out of her sedative induced sleep. Her head still hurt but less severly.

“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser set the coffee and pastry on the bed side table. He noted how drained Meg appeared as he stood at the foot of her bed.

“Constable Fraser, hello.” She looked at him through narrowly opened eyes, the head of the bed rising slowly to a sitting position. Meg sipped her coffee appreciatively and examined the pastry before taking a bite.

“You seem to be yourself again, Sir.” Ben stated, testing the waters.

“I feel more like myself, thank you for asking.” The 'Inspector Thatcher' attitude had returned full force. Ben felt a little disappointed.

“Dr. Hood told me you were instrumental in saving my life, Constable Fraser.” The tone of voice was the same but Ben wondered where she was heading. “I intend to put you in for a commendation.” She hadn't meant to go anywhere.

“That isn't necessary, Sir.” The mountie stood at parade rest, his focus on his boots.

“Yes, Constable Fraser, I think it is necessary. I've been very petty toward you of late and, well, I apologize.” The startled mountie looked up at her as if she'd said it in fluent German.

“No apology is necessary, Inspector.” He shrugged it off. Didn't he see how hard this was for her? She wanted to thank him properly for saving her life, but the old walls were as strong as ever. Still, Meg tried to scale them.

“Constable Fraser,” Her tone was sharp, mixed with a little desperation. “I'm trying to say that I owe you my life. I owe you so much more than my life actually.” Saying that was one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

Ben studied her features, the way her eyes begged him to read between the lines, the way she bit her full, bottom lip insecurely. The monitor told him that her heart rate had significantly increased, as had her breathing.

“If I may, Inspector Thatcher,” Ben took a seat on the foot of the bed, looking steadily into her dark eyes. She simply nodded as he took her hand in his.

“I wish it had been me instead.” His rough fingers traced her left hand's ring finger for a moment. “I wasn't saving your life as much as I was saving mine.” Ben's voice was clear but very low.

“The conversation we had yesterday was real?” Her confusion puzzled Ben. He didn't know what to say exactly. Meg saw the deer-in-the-headlights expression and knew the conversation was real.

“Oh dear, I've messed up.” She thought to herself. Fraser stood up again, withdrawing himself.

“Fraser, I'm sorry.” Meg tried to smooth things over, but the damage had been done regardless.

“I spoke out of turn, Inspector, forgive me.” Fraser stood back up, his eyes anywhere but looking at her.

“Forgive you, Fraser, what for?” Meg floundered. “I don't think either of us said anything we didn't mean.” She felt a wave of pain blooming in her head. “Please, I don't...” Nausea churned her stomach, stopping her from continuing.

“Are you alright, Inspector?” Fraser leaned in, concern coloring his handsome features.

“I'm fine, Fraser, fine.” She laid back against the head of the bed, pale again.

“You shouldn't get upset, Inspector.” His tone was neutral.

“I can't help it, you upset me, Fraser, in good ways.” Meg began massaging the bridge of her nose, wishing she'd never left the office to get lunch.

“Sir, when I was very young, my grandmother taught me how to dance; a few waltzes and the Fox Trot. It took me a while to learn to lead properly. You and I, Inspector Thatcher, I don't know who's leading.” All she could do was look at him. They'd both revealed so much in such a short time.

“Neither of us, I guess, I don't dance very well.” Meg held out her hand for him to take, hoping they could find something in common.

“I'm still learning the steps myself.” Ben took a seat at the foot of the bed. He took her outstretched hand.

“Hello, Inspector Thatcher, Constable Fraser. Glad to see you up and feeling better.” Constable Turnbull came in, preceded by the biggest spray of flowers either of them had seen west of the Kentucky Derby.

Ben let go of Meg's fingers immediately. He put on the faithful mask of the dutiful officer. That didn't mean that Turnbull didn't see the guilty, sneaky look that passed between his superior officers.

“Hey, is anybody in there?” Ray Vecchio's voice called out as he came in carrying a shopping bag. “I brought the good inspector a get well present.” A sly smile split the Italian descendant’s lean face. He set the large bag on the bed.

“It's not Prada, but it'll do.” Meg pulled out a black, rubber galosh. She felt like tossing the heavy, ugly boot at him but didn't.

“Thank you kindly, Detective Vecchio.” Meg put the boot back in the bag.

“Alright, Boys, I know you want to see the lady, but she needs her rest.” A loud, brassy nurse interrupted the visitors.

“We'll talk later, Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser stood, his farewell having a double meaning. Meg nodded curtly and wished her guests farewell.

****

Fraser walked Rosie's cart back to her, as she knew he would. The little, black lady smiled brightly when she saw him come around the corner of the Fast Mart.

“Constable, did she do what you needed her to?” Rosie's face seemed ageless, neither young nor old. Her cornrows were fuzzy but straight beneath an old, plastic rain bonnet.

“Yes, Rosie, indeed it did a fine job.” The mountie handed it over with a smile.

“I heard your boss lady, she in the hospital. Is she alright?” The old woman began shifting her stuff back into the metal cart quickly.

“Inspector Thatcher is mending well.” Fraser answered with the answer he'd given five times in the last few hours.

“Good, I'm glad. Those sidewalks are slick, and she never wears good, solid shoes.” Rosie showed Fraser the pair of work boots she wore, her bandy legs poking out beneath a pair of jeans.

“You know, sometimes I see her, your boss lady. She hides, watching you as you stand outside the consulate. She looks like she's thinking of something when she watches you. Has she ever told you that?” Rosie studied the younger man. As much as he tried to hide behind his own mask, he didn't fool that old lady. He had the same thing on his mind as his boss lady.

“I think I have an idea, Rosie.” Ben confessed. He'd seen Meg standing across the street, halfway down the block, spying as she ate a sandwich for lunch.

“Have you told her what you got on your mind, Constable Fraser?” The old woman gave him a sly, knowing smile.

“Some of it, yes.” The mountie confessed again.

“If you sweet on her, you'd better tell her. Second chances are rare in this world.” She wagged a gnarled finger up at the Canadian. Ben felt the chastisement. He knew his grandmother would have said very nearly the same things.

“Thank you kindly for the loan, Rosie. Have a good day.” Ben tipped his hat to the homeless lady before he turned to leave.

“You think long and hard about what I told you, Constable Fraser. You got a second chance, use it.” Her voice carried as he turned and waved. Ben intended to use his second chance.

****

Meg came back to work after three weeks of recovery at home and three, follow up appointments with her general practitioner. Days of lying around the apartment had made her stir crazy. Then there was the matter of time away from Fraser. He'd visited her twice and spoke to her on the phone ever day, but hadn't mentioned their conversation after surgery. That's what drove her up the wall. It didn't help that she looked like a mummy with her head bandaged from the drainage hole they'd had to cut in her skull. Meg was thankful for her hard head.

“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher, glad to see you're feeling up to coming in today.” Turnbull greeted her exuberantly. Had he been a dog, he would have wagged his tail and licked her face.

“Thank you, Turnbull. Is Constable Fraser in his office?” Meg cut to the chase. She didn't feel like standing up long.

“Yes, Sir, should I have him come to your office?” Good heavens, he was brighter than he acted.

“Yes, as soon as possible.” Meg found her way to her desk and sat down gratefully. A few moments later she heard Fraser's singular tap at the door.

“Come in, Constable.” She raised her strong voice just enough to be heard. Fraser popped his head through the doorway before stepping the rest of his body inside.

“You called for me, Inspector Thatcher?” To his credit, Fraser had a neutral tone and expression.

“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about what we were talking about earlier ...” Fraser held a finger to his lips. Then he turned on the television to the local weather.

“Sorry, Sir, Turnbull has a tendency to eavesdrop. I don't think he intends to, he simply does.” Fraser explained. Meg rolled her eyes, exasperated.

“About what we were talking about earlier, I still feel the same about the matter, Constable.” Meg tried to force herself over those high walls she'd built so long ago.

“As do I,” Ben spoke low, his gaze locked on Meg. Her heart soared.

“You do realize that regulations forbid such a relationship?” She wanted to be straight up with him. The mountie simply nodded. He could quote the regulations on the matter- verbatim.

“Then how do we proceed?” Meg hated sounding like they were strategizing about a dinner party or the duty roster.

“Like this.” Ben stood up and came around the desk toward her. He still held Meg's gaze as he knelt down before her and laid his hand gently on her cheek. “Our time may not be right now but I will be there when it comes.” Ben had waited so long already, he knew he could wait a while longer.

“Can you forgive me, Fraser?” Meg felt the need for his forgiveness. Neither of them could give up the RCMP.

“Always.” Was his soft answer. Ben would always forgive her.

 

**Author's Note:** For whatever reason, I decided the doctor should favor Cary Elwes from Robin Hood: Men in Tights. He has the most lovely, British accent, and I bet he would have awesome bedside manner. Ah, I spend way too much time alone. LOL!    

 


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